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Why does it hurt?

To breathe in the frost kissed air,

To nurse an ember of feelings at my core.



Why does it hurt?

To cast a glance unto shadows so familiar,

To become immersed in a kaleidoscope of colours,

Until my eyes burn and my mind screams in agony.



Tell me, dammit!

Why does it hurt to simply exist in the moment?!

Trapped, frozen, ensnared in the silk weavings of this cruel Window's web.

Venom upon tainted lips and dripping with enthusiasm,

Eyes by eight - alight with obsidian hunger.

Patiently waiting for my struggles to cease!



Why . . .

Why does it hurt?

Why am I hurting?



Scars were meant to bleed,

I always knew that much.

But to weep a flow like this,

History's scriptures turning crimson . . .



It hurts.

Little Winter bud, how do you fare?

Hidden away from Autumn's chilled stare.

But cloaked you are not,

perched up high on your stem.

O' little bud,

Where have your petals went?



Did they fall off?

Or get caught upon the wind?

Were they pawed away as a Cheshire grinned.



Little Winter bud, this is so unfair.

Without your petals you are far too bare.

Are you not angry?

Or even a little sad?

You just lost such beauty you once had.



But Little Winter bud,

I know you lack such power,

Since you are unfortunately 'just a flower'.

As for your petals - there weren't enough.

As a love-blind maiden, I picked every one . .

Off.